Archive for October, 2011


Shhhhhhh….

Truly, truly, truly.  Bad choices.  Yuck.  And now I pay.  With a sweet sweet boy bouncing up and down on my lap.  Being a bartender in Texas with children…not so much fun the day after I work.  Especially on a slow slow night.

Yes, this comes with a price.  Especially the older my poor body gets.

Have you ever noticed that when you have a hangover everything seems 10x louder than it is?

Day 1 of three.

I think I’ll go rehydrate now.  Don’t judge me.

So, those of you who think being a Mom is not a job…let me just tell you first off that you can kiss my ass.  Secondly, I can prove to you that it is damn hard work.  Here was my day.

Wake up at 8:00 A.M.  Wait, is it eight already?  Shit!  GET UP EVERYBODY!!!!!  WE’RE LATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Get Emily dressed and off to school, which is particularly difficult this morning because apparently this is her PMS week.  She refuses to wear any of the 12 pairs of pants I pull out of her drawer.  No, really.  Flat out refuses.  I tell her to get her pants on or else Mommy is gonna get crazy military on that ass.  She finally complies with some dark pink leggings (not the light pink ones Mom, you know that I hate light pink).  Shit.  She then complements her dark pink leggings with an ugly red jacket that truly only goes with her former T-Ball uniform.

Whatever.  She’s off to school.  Only 45 minutes late.  Shit.

I walk to the coffee pot, because y’all know I need my morning coffee, and I realize that there are still dishes in the sink from last night.  So, being OCD like I am about certain things, I fill the sink with soapy water and do the dishes.  I finally get them done and I make some coffee.  I sit down to drink it and check my Facebook and possibly write a blog, when I realize that it’s already past 9:00.  Damn.  I wanted to work out, because I’ve been trying to do that lately more often than once a month, so I decide that Ethan and I will go the gym with the pool and I can swim some laps.

My ADD takes hold and as I get myself and my son prepared I realize that there is laundry that needs to be done.  I pull the clean stuff out of the dryer, change the other over, then fold the clean stuff.  (I don’t put it away because I hate it). Then I realize that the dog needs to be fed.  With my Dad visiting my brother this has become a chore of the children’s, which means I have to monitor the 3 year old while he does it.  I get the water, he gets the food.

Shit.  The gym.  I go to my room and realize that I can’t really leave Ethan to his own devices without him destroying something or making a huge mess, so I find a cartoon for him to watch.  Now, where the hell is a bathing suit that doesn’t make me look too much like Rosie O’Donnel?  I go with the slimming yet mommyish blue bathing suit that covers the entirety that is my body and realize that I still haven’t gotten coffee.  Oh, I made it, but it’s sitting on the desk in front of the computer.  I walk out, bathing suit clad, and sit down at the desk (yep, I’ve been told that I have a very severe case of ADD).  I log onto Facebook and post that I’m going to the gym and does anyone want to have lunch later?

My friend C. quickly replies.  The only problem is, she has a photo shoot at 11, and has no hair and makeup girl.  DUN-DUH-NAAAAAAAAH~!  Super Krystie to the rescue! I quickly jump into my phone booth and spin wildly into my cape so that I can run over and help her with her client.  Oh yeah.  I’m that friend.  Well, there was a bit of selfishness in there.  I wanted her to go to lunch with me.  🙂

By the time I get done helping with hair at the photo shoot it is past 12.  So much for the gym.  I jump in the car to run to Wal-Mart…we are in dire need of paper plates….and by the time I get done spending 80 dollars there (those are some phenomenal paper plates), I realize that it’s now past 1.  I call Cyndi, who is finishing up her photo shoot, and tell her that I’m getting lunch now, because my little boy is starving, and honestly, I was too. Cyndi agrees to meet us at Applebee’s in about 20 minutes.

As I turned the corner from the Wal-Mart onto the main road I see a homeless woman with a sign.  “Will work for food.”  I make a split second decision, pull over, and invite her to lunch.  Fuck it.  Why not?  I always like to feed people.  She tells me her name, and my son graciously tells me as we walk into the restaurant, “I don’t want to sit by her.”  Yep.  My own little Dennis Leary.

We sit down at the restaurant and make small talk while we wait for Cyndi to get there.  Small talk with a homeless person is not easy, let me tell you.  Especially when you think about all the “stuff” that are your personal problems that seem so huge, but their “stuff” is made up of things like, holy shit it got a lot colder today and I don’t have a warm blanket for tonight.  But, we ate, and laughed and even my son warmed up to her a little bit.

Cyndi gets there and we finish lunch.  I then drop the lady off at some random place, and decide that it is 2:30 and I have just enough time to make it to Sam’s Club because we are almost out of fruits and veggies at my house, and that is against our religion.  No, seriously.  We’re from California.

Sam’s Club takes longer than I thought it would and OH SHIT!  It’s 3:00!  I have to be at Emily’s school in 15 minutes to pick her up!  I can’t drop her off late and then pick her up late to make it up!  We run to the cash register line, which is WAAAAAY longer than it should be on a Wednesday afternoon, and finally check out.  I make it to Emily’s school and grab her up just in time to realize that I forgot pudding and gummy worms for her Halloween party at the Girl Scout meeting tonight.  Oh yeah, and Emily needs red tights for her WonderWoman costume. I swear, if I don’t get this ADD under control…..

We drive to the supermarket, then back to Wal-Mart to get the needed goods.  It’s 4:42 by this point.  The party is at 6.  Shit.  Okay…I can do this.  Wait!  I have to pay the light bill or it’s late today!  I jump onto the computer and realize I can’t find my login information.  Fuck!  Where is that account number.  Are you kidding me???? It’s 4:45.  I have literally 15 minutes to get my payment in, so I call customer service.  Cue the elevator music…and then the voice of the annoying bitch who tells me that my wait time is going to be longer than 10 minutes due to high call volume.  I am frantic at this point.  Yes, it’s only 10 dollars, but I don’t want to pay another 10 dollars, damn it.  Wait…I remember!  I put in the correct info, and PRESTO!  The bill is paid!  Shit.  Okay.

We have to make dirt cups now kids!!!!  Uh huh…we now have to make some cutesie little cups with oreos, pudding, and gummy worms for the party that we are supposed to be at in 1 hours.  We get it done in 15 minutes and I realize that I still haven’t showered today.  I magically get in and out of the shower within 8 minutes…I’m like a ninja.  I yell to the kids as water is still dripping down the crack of my ass, “Time to put your costumes on!!!”  They yell with excitement, always ready for anything Halloween related, and start the process.  I walk out of the bathroom to help, still in a towel, and proceed to get them properly clothed.  Once they are done I realize that I am still in a towel.

Deep breaths. How much longer is my day???  Well, I still have to go through Ethan falling asleep before we even get out the door to go to the party as well as homework to be done and a meeting about the work Halloween party this weekend.  I would tell you about all that too, but I am getting too tired just writing this blog.

Hope your day was somewhat productive too!!  I think I’ll go have a little nightcap now.  🙂

Tator.

I woke up this morning to an elbow right in my face along with a knee in my back.  My husband is lucky it wasn’t him cause I probably would have punched him right in the gut for taking up so much space (which is a normal thing, btw).  Nope!  This time it was my son.  He is such an awful sleeper!  And by this, I mean he spreads completely out on the bed.  I don’t understand how a 3 year old can manage to take up practically an entire California King Size bed, but he manages to do it.

I get out of bed because I just can’t manage to hit the snooze button one more time, let along shove Ethan back over to his Dad’s side again.

Coffee.  I need coffee.  I make my way into the kitchen where the coffee pot awaits our morning routine.  It’s somewhat like a Folgers commercial, except I make my own coffee…nobody is sneaking in to wake me up with the aroma drifting down the hallway.  Plus I hate Folgers.  I use Hills Bros coffee and we grind our own beans in this house.  If you knew my Dad you would know that coffee is not just coffee.  It is a religion.  Anyway, I digress.

I inhale the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and get the pot percolating.  I realize that I actually got to sleep in this morning, and by sleep in, I mean I slept until 8.

What’s this?  No screaming?  No fighting?  No tantrums?  I’m just not really sure what to do with myself.

My son pads sleepily down the hallway and I realize that dreams really do come true.  That’s right…he slept through the night without wetting the bed (which is extra special, since he decided to climb into our bed).

He looked somewhat like this guy, except smaller and cuter.  Ignore the lady.

Next, I make a mental note of my to-do list today and realize that it really isn’t that long. Then I realize that I have no homework today.  I actually have some time for myself!!

Yup.  It’s gonna be a good day tator.

Blast from the past…

I don’t have time to write today, so I am posting a link to an older post that I wrote awhile ago.  This is on my old website, and feel free to check out the others if you would like.  I might do this from time to time…just to remind you to keep giggling.


Priceless

 

It’s pretty funny…if I do say so myself!!

See y’all tomorrow!

 

K.

So right now, my son is in the thralls of an intense meltdown.  It still amazes me the way that he can put so much effort and energy into such a seemingly small thing.

My son is passionate.  That’s one way I could describe him.  He really does everything with his whole heart.  It’s amazing the way he puts himself into things, and it will be a boon to him when he gets a little bit older.  Like, at this exact moment he is laying in the back doorway screaming,” I WANT THE BIG STICK!!  I WANT THE STICK!” Over and over and over.  Let me give you a little background on this story.

My daughter has been sick for the last few days.  I let them watch waaaaay too many cartoons and movies when they are sick, and by default, when one is sick, the other gets to watch the TV too.  Today, my daughter was feeling a bit better, so I ordered them to peel off their pjs and take their little butts outside so that they could get some sunshine and semi-clean air. (This is Lubbock, of course).

They get dressed and head outside, where they typically play very well together.  I sat down at the computer to check my e-mail and perhaps write another blog, when, not 5 minutes later, I hear the telltale “Owwww!  Ethan, that HURT!”

I wait for it.  The backdoor comes open violently and my daughter comes in with a pissed-off look on her face.  “MOMMY, ETHAN HIT ME!”

“It’s mine!” comes a little voice from outside.

I call them both inside to find out what all the ruckus it about.  Turns out, that windstorm that happened earlier this week left a  huge stick outside from the tree that both of the kids were trying to play with.  I decide that the only fair thing is for them to share it.  I am so King Solomon in this story.  They refuse to share it (of course), and so I have my daughter dispose of the thing over the back fence.

My. Son. Is. Fucking. Pissed.

Screaming his woes to the world he heads back outside.  All of a sudden…silence.

Something is wrong.

Ethan comes inside smiling from ear to ear.  I don’t know why my little monkey is so happy now, but I know that it can’t be good.  He looks a bit like Mini Me from Austin Powers right now.  I’m pretty sure he even had his pinky up by his mouth.

This JUST happened, btw.  I was writing this post when he came in with an evil grin.

He whispers something to me that I can’t quite figure out…something about sissy’s shoes are outside and she needs to find them.

My daughter retorts, “Nuh uh Ethan, my shoes are on my feet!”

Ethan’s shit-eating grin widens.  “Not your school shoes!”

Turns out my son is full of vengeance, somewhat like God.  He decided that in retaliation of Emily listening to me when I told her to throw the stick over the fence he was going to throw her brand new Sketchers over that very same fence into the alley behind our house.

I have to say that although I was pissed that he would compromise my money like that…it was pretty ingenious.  And don’t worry…they’re playing together as I type at the kitchen table.  But I think they’re arguing about sharing the black marker.  Wonder how that one’s gonna turn out?

Stay tuned….

Success!

What is success?  Here is the definition that the web gave me:

suc·cess

[suhk-ses]

noun

1.

the favorable or prosperous termination of attempts or endeavors.
2.

the attainment of wealth, position, honors, or the like.
3.

a successful performance or achievement: The play was an instant success.
4.

a person or thing that is successful: She was a great success on the talk show.
5.

Obsolete. outcome.
Origin: 1530–40; < Latin successus, equivalent to succēd-, stem of succēdere to succeed + -tus suffix of v. action, with dt > ss

Related forms

suc·cess·less, adjective
suc·cess·less·ly, adverb
suc·cess·less·ness, noun
non·suc·cess, noun
pre·suc·cess, noun

Synonyms 2. achievement, fame, triumph.

So, what is success?  The favorable or prosperous termination of attempts or endeavors…basically, the dictionary is telling us to define success for ourselves.  For my son, a successful day is one in which he does not shit his pants.  For my daughter, it might be a day in which she succeeds in not having a complete emotional meltdown.  For others, it might be successfully feeding their family.

What throws me off on the definition though are the synonyms.  Achievement?  Maybe.  Fame?  Depends on who you are.  Leonardo DiCaprio is successful by this synonym.  Triumph?  Ted Bundy might be successful to this point.

My point is, success is what you define it to be.  We are all successful in our lives; the question is, are we happy with what we have successfully completed as well?  I struggle with that question, constantly.  The only answer that I can succesfully (how many times can I say this?) come up with is that on my death bed I want my kids to say that I was a good mom.

If I keep this in mind when I am worried about the little bullshit things in life like mopping the floor, or the grade I got on that test, or what some asshole thinks of me at work, I know that I am, in fact, entirely successful.  Each and every day.

Fat bitch.

Okay.  So I’ll admit that I’ve been guilty of calling other women fat bitches.  Which really doesn’t make sense, considering I too, am a bitch, and I as well, have a few dimples on my thighs.  Girl on girl crime is on the rise, and ladies, we are all guilty.  I don’t feel that it’s a crime to be fat or a bitch for that matter.  But to deny who and what you are…that is a crime.

I like to maintain reality.  I am one of those friends who you know will tell you the truth.  I’ll tell you if you’re being extra bitchy today.  I’ll call you out if those jeans really do make you look fat.  If you have food in your teeth, I’ll be the one who lets you know. If your husband is an asshole, I’ll probably call him out.

Why are there so many others out there who are the complete opposite?  Women who are so concerned with what society thinks that they can’t embrace their innate bitchiness except behind the backs of everyone else drive me fucking insane. I am taking charge of my bitchiness and putting it out there for you to do the same.  Call me a bitch; it’s what I have printed on my bar key, so don’t worry…I already know.

What’s wrong with being a bitch, as long as I’m an honest bitch?  Who’s with me?

Okay, so I’ll admit it.  I love kids.  But I hate the little bastards too.  Not mine, of course.  Mine are always little angels.  It’s those other people’s kids who make me want to become a front page headline.  Does anyone else know what I’m talking about?  My children would never make fun of other kids.  They always make sure to include everyone else when playing.  And most important of all, they always say please, thank you, and cook me breakfast in bed each and every day. And we ride unicorns to school and blow bubbles through rainbows every day before breakfast after watching the sun rise as a family and talk about our feelings.

Yeah, right.

Don’t you love those parents?  Parents who think that their kiddos are God’s greatest gift but everyone else has a child who is the otherwise flawed make me fucking crazy!  Usually these are the parents you see who are running the PTA and talking shit behind other parents backs.  Yes, if you are this parent I am talking to you!  Don’t get me wrong…my kids are great.  But not all the time.  They can drive me (and I’m sure other people) bat-shit crazy!!  They do wrong, each and every day.  My little girl sings off key to every song that she loves on the radio, not to mention all of the songs that she makes up on the spot.  It drives me nuts.  It’s cute, but seriously…ALL THE TIME.  She also has a tendency to overreact to, well, just about anything.  My son, little darling that he is, back talks me more than I care to remember.  And seriously, the swearing is getting out of hand.  I don’t know where the fuck he gets it from.   And there are plenty more flaws where those came from.

Our children live in a society of overparenting.  These “helicopter parents” are well-meaning, to be sure, but what sort of good is it doing their kids?  Now, before you get mad, let me tell you, I’ve had my moments. I bought the restaurant high chair cover to keep my kid from getting germs.  I rubber padded the sharp corners on my fireplace when my first child was learning to walk.  But in the last few weeks I’ve been seeing that my own helicoptering is preventing my kids from getting their own experiences without me being there to pad the sharp corners of life for them.  I don’t want my kids to think that they are always perfect, protected, and infallible.  Who the hell does?  Nobody likes that kid in school!  That kid is the asshole!  And if you don’t remember who that asshole was in your class…chances are it was you.  These days kids don’t even play outside anymore, or even know the kids in the neighborhood.  Hell, when I was a kid, we would go and ROAM the neighborhood, but be home before dark.  What happened in the last 20 years that made kids no longer able to withstand the quite normal and healthy sufferings of childhood?

Perhaps this was you!

I believe that a key to good parenting comes in telling your kids that they have flaws.  IT’S OKAY PEOPLE!  You’re not going to harm your kid if you tell him honestly he’s not quarterback material!  Hell, you might make him realize that he has a real knack for acting, or violin, or some other talent he might not have looked at because you’ve been too busy telling him that he is the next Joe Montana.  I believe that my daughter is amazing, but Taylor Swift she is not.  At least not yet.  Practice makes perfect.  I believe that my mouth of a son is funny, but he’s not Jeff Foxworthy.  Not yet anyway.  Comic, yes.  Professional, no.

Am I the only one who has noticed the overflow of all the entitled, I’m better than you are, little monster children out there?  Our children are miniature versions of us.  So if your little princess is walking around acting like a serious diva, you should probably check your mirror to see if you tend to do the same thing.  (That’s definitely my problem)  Swear, I do the singing thing too…poor hubby.

Look, don’t do your kids (or us) a disservice any more.  Praise them when they honestly do well.  Be happy when they try their best.  But make sure that you let them know that it’s okay to fail.  It’s okay to fuck up every once in awhile.  And tell them that if they’re not good at something, it’s okay.  Let them know that it’s okay to grow up to be a janitor.  Or a pot farmer (only in California).  Or maybe a manager at McDonald’s.  Let’s be clear here, there can’t possibly be millions of future presidents of the United States.  Tell your kids the TRUTH!!  Or you might just end up being the parent who watches your child get booed off the stage on America’s Got Talent.  And that just really hurts us all, doesn’t it?

Be a patriot.  Go ahead.  Tell your kid they suck.  Better yet, let them fall off their bikes without a helmet.  Or maybe even let them play down the block without you watching with a pair of binoculars.   Sit back, pour yourself a drink, and realize that, unlike me, you are not supermom.  Just trust me when I say, my drink has already been poured.

Holy Shit!

So, the weather got kinda crazy today here in my windy city of Lubbock that I call home for two more months.  It was like a scene described in a Laura Ingalls Wilder book, A Shit Ton of Dust on the Prairie.  The kids were fine, playing outside with one of their friends, when all of a sudden I looked out the kitchen window and realized that the sky was red.  That’s right. RED.

Check this out…

That is dirt people.

Here’s another one.

Ummm...is this 1935?

The kids stared out the back door as my daughter asked me, “Is it a tornado?”

I told her no, it was just dirt, to which she replied, “Oh!  It’s a dirtnado!”

That’s when this happened.

Yes, that is a huge branch that crashed into my house.

Winds that were going 40-50 miles per hour decided to take out an innocent tree branch, causing childhood INSANITY in my home.  My daughter almost had a panic attack, until I reminded her that panicking doesn’t make things any better.  She took that to mean that if she acted crazy the dirt and wind would get worse, so I let her continue to think that.   Was that wrong?  My bad.  Meanwhile, I’m watching the tree that the branch fell off of, wondering if any other branches are going to do a backflip with a double twist into my house.

I remain the ever-calm presence of a mom that I am, steering the kids away from the tree’s target area and into the bedroom to play as I continue to make some delicious homemade stroganoff.  (Click here for my yummy recipe!) DELICIOUS!!  Does stroganoff go with red or white wine?  Nevermind…vodka goes with anything. 

That’s right.  Winds are taking down my yard and I’m still cooking dinner for the family.  Fuck you Martha Stewart…I’m hardcore!

Well, I am.  Okay, maybe not go to prison hardcore, but kick your dusty ass with some delicious stroganoff hardcore.  I’ll take mine with that aforementioned shot of vodka.

Ok.  So this morning I woke up with a slight headache and a really dry mouth.  I wondered why, and then I remembered that my husband and I decided to consume an entire bottle of pinot noir last night at around midnight.  Oh yeah….not the best idea on a Sunday night.  But at the time, it was fantastic.  And when do we get to have a bottle of wine to ourselves??

I buttoned my daughter’s pants for her sleepily as I realized that yes, I did have to get out of bed.  My compliant husband stumbled to the kitchen to make my demanding self coffee.  What a sweet love.  I rolled out of bed and decided that I was not showering today.  It was a decision based on two things…

1.  I did not have time if we were going to get the truck into the shop at it’s appointed time.

2.  I did not give a shit.

Ugh.  I thought about my to do list for the day, which includes several things (one of which is writing this blog).  I had to feed the dog, dress the boy, make a grocery list, go to the grocery store (maybe), do at least 5 loads of laundry, write an outline for an abnormal psych paper, do my homework for my online class, sweep the floor, mop it if I have time, go running, shower (by this point it will be an absolute necessity), work on my grad school application, take the dog for a walk, go to class at 3, make dinner, which I should really pull out of the freezer right now, get the kids to clean their rooms, help the girl with her homework….this list is growing as I type.  I think I’ll stop now.

Anyway, about 5 minutes before my kindergartener had to be in class I had to declothe her.  Why?  Well, she was wearing the same pants that she has been wearing for approximately a week now.  I still can’t understand why she chooses the same clothes over and over and over again.  She’s my little hobo in training.  Gotta love it.

Em finally finishes getting dressed and I pull on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt and brush the foul odor out of my mouth.  I wash my face and contemplate how to attack the day.  I hear a squeal from my son as I scrub away, trying to erase the years that are adding exponentially onto my face.  He is climbing into the refrigerator and has two yogurts in hand.

“Bubba, Daddy is gonna take us out to breakfast.”

“I want to eat!”

“Okay, but Daddy is going to take us out to eat.”

“I want waffles!”

The yogurt finally gets relinquished as my son contemplates the idea of waffles, eggs, and orange juice.  I look at his chubby face and laugh to myself as I realize that there might just be another bottle of wine in store for us tonight.